


Would You Be So Kind?

by SimplyEssa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blodd and Violence, Coran is space dad fight me on this, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Humour, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Implied Emotional Manipulation, Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Protective Coran (Voltron), Thace Is Alice Bitch, Torture, Whump, injuries, small amount of fluff, stories, the fluff before the storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyEssa/pseuds/SimplyEssa
Summary: “...Coran?”“Right, right, of course!” He begins again, his tone and smile a bit more genuine, this time. He begins to push his thumb in a direction it can’t go, determined to dislocate it to get out of these cuffs; to get to Keith. “Have I told you about the time Alfor had lost Allura?”“...no,” it’s quiet and small, nearly a whisper.Coran works faster.





	Would You Be So Kind?

**Author's Note:**

> bbbbbasically i was craving some good ol’ keith whump but platonic keith & coran and found none So  
> HERE YOU GO
> 
>  
> 
> (thank you @ the wonderful nerdyspaceace for betaing this)

“Coran?” The voice is muddled with sleep, raspy from the strain of screaming for so long. Coran feels a strange pull at his heartstrings at the thought; the desire to protect him, even if he cannot move.

“Yes, my boy?” he answers, looking up from where he had been previously looking at his cuffs, trying to somehow dislocate his thumb and slip them off, so he could have enough movement to get to Keith’s side. Unfortunately, whenever he gets too close to touching the separate cuffs, he gets a minor shock; a warning.

“...where’re you?” he asks, for the third time of what he thinks is that day. The heartstrings are being pulled again.

“I’m still here, son,” he says, frowning in frustration when he can’t get the cuffs off, _again_.

“...okay,” he says, _again_ , like the last three times, and he _still_  doesn’t sound convinced.

Coran’s frown grows wider, and he tugs at the cuffs again, groaning quietly. “Just a few more minutes, my boy, and I’ll be runnin’ to you like a Gyralle in the night, who’s running from a Porel!”

And, again, like they rehearsed it; “...I don’t know what that means, but ‘kay.”

This time, there’s a small sigh, and a bit of shuffling, accompanied by a quiet, muffled whimper, like he’s biting his wrist- and _squabbles_ , he told the boy to stop that-

Something gently nudges his knee, and stays there. It looks like a foot.

“...can you talk to me?” he whispers, as if speaking too loud would strain his vocal chords and hurt him further; which, is very likely. They had put quite the beating on him, today, and as much as it hurt Coran to see the boy in pain, he refused to say anything that could help them find the Castle or the Blade.

“About what, son?” he asks, grabbing at the cuffs with his teeth. The last time he tried this, it had shocked him so hard he had fallen unconscious and Keith had been consumed by a panic attack, thinking he was dead, but he’s willing to try anything, at this point. He wants to comfort him, give him a sense of safety; of _family_.

“...can you-“ He breaks off, hacking out a terrible cough that sounds like it’s extremely painful, which, with his bruised or broken ribs (Coran has yet to check, with the cuffs and all), it probably is. “Story?”

“Of course, m’boy!” He tries to sound chipper as he removes his teeth. It hadn’t shocked him. He tries to dislocate his thumb; it doesn’t shock him. He stares at the cuffs, bewildered. Are they malfunctioning?

“...Coran?”

“Right, right, of course!” He begins again, his tone and smile a bit more genuine, this time. He begins to push his thumb in a direction it can’t go, determined to dislocate it to get out of these cuffs; to get to Keith. “Have I told you about the time Alfor had lost Allura?”

“...no,” it’s quiet and small, nearly a whisper.

Coran works faster.

“Well, you’re in luck!” He says, only wincing a little when he manages to slide his thumb out of the socket. It’s painful, yes, but the cuffs hadn’t shocked him, so they’ve either turned them off, or they’re malfunctioning. He slides his hand out of the cuff, and places his hand over his dislocated thumb, distracting himself with speaking when he pushes it back into the socket. “When Alfor was a new father, and Allura was about… 1 year old, perhaps, if my memory serves me correct, they played Tidying The Closet.”

“...wha’s that?” A weaker voice.

Coran hurries to pull the other cuff off, before jumping to his feet and squinting in the dim light for Keith. When they had unchained him from the ceiling, they had placed him… There! In the corner, the furthest one away from himself. He slowly walks over, careful not to scare him. “It’s- It’s a children’s game, where one person counts to 10 ticks, and the others hide.”

“Hide ‘n’ seek?” Keith asks, and- Is he delirious? What in the world is hide and seek?

“No, m’boy,” He says, kneeling down beside him. He’s curled into a half ball, as if he gave up halfway through, and there’s a small pile of puke near his head. Coran frowns, brushing Keith’s bangs from his face, checking for further damage. There’s still the nasty wound on his forehead from the Arena, but now, there’s also a cut going through the corner of his mouth. His left eye is swollen shut, cheek pressed to the floor, his nose is bleeding sluggishly, and there’s blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Tidying the Closet.”

Keith lazily opens his right eye to reveal red, puffy, and bloodshot irises, and a dilated pupil. He’s been drugged, this time. He slowly looks at him, eyes travelling from his feet to his head, foggy and unfocused until they rest on Coran’s face. He blinks, slowly, and a bit of shock seems to set in, then. Coran smiles gently, lightly patting his head before turning to his torso.

“...‘ran?” Keith slurs, peeling his arm off of his stomach to flap it in his direction. Coran takes his hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over the bruised knuckles.

“Yes, m’boy?” he asks, letting go of Keith’s hands and resting them on the prison garbs, pulling them to above his ribs.

“‘s that you?”

“Indeed it is, number four!” He grins at him, chewing on his bottom lip as he scans for any injuries that he hasn’t seen yet. There’s a massive bruise the length of his stomach, black and blue and _green_ , and there’s a few small cuts, but for the most part, there’s nothing he hasn’t seen. He pulls the shirt back down, sitting back on his thighs.

He strokes his moustache, gently grasping at Keith’s thigh and calf. Keith’s breathing hitches, then picks up a little, and he can hear a quiet ‘ _no_ ’ throughout their small cell.

“It’s alright,” he says, quietly, trying not to startle Keith more. He sees Keith nod, hears a faint gulping noise, and Keith relaxes beneath him. “This might hurt a teensy bit,” he says, and before Keith can react, begins to stretch the leg out towards him. Keith lets out a strangled cry that quickly gets cut off as he flinches. Coran continues with his work, pulling Keith’s leg out and stretching it until it’s in his lap, and he can get a better look at it. He gently taps at Keith’s thigh, trying his best to ignore Keith’s small groans and cries, trying to see if the swelling has gone down. It has by a fraction, at the very least, so he leaves it be. He moves down to just below the knee, where he had been cut. The wound was deep, and bleeding heavily, but Coran had fixed it up as best he could. There isn’t much he can do about the incoming infection, especially with the little amount of water they gave them, though there weren’t any signs of infection, _yet_.

“...’ow bad ‘s it?” Keith asks, voice strained and slurring, as he lifts his head up as far as it can go.

Coran frowns, pulling the pant leg back over his calf, as far as it would go. “Not very good, if I’m to be truthful, but it is much better than before!”

“...’s good,” Keith mumbles, then presses his cheek back onto the ground. His eyes flutter shut and his breathing becomes a little deeper.

Coran brushes the blood off his hands before he stands up, moving to Keith’s head. He slowly, _gently_ , maneuvers Keith onto his lap, shifting so Keith’s head will be in the crook of his arm. Keith mumbles something, and Coran freezes, afraid he has woken him up, but Keith turns his face into Coran’s bicep and continues to doze, relaxed and limp in his arms.

He will make the Galra pay for ever _touching_ the Red Paladin; for touching _his son._

* * *

 

He’s awake when Keith wakes up.

In fact, he’s been awake the entire time.

He’s unable to sleep when the looming presence of danger is so close by, ready to take away Keith once again.

He’s in that half-awake, half-asleep state he falls into when he’s tired, but too aware of his surroundings to fall asleep, when he feels Keith stir in his arms.

He snaps fully awake, blinking tiredly down at the boy who’s rousing in his arms with a quiet groan, shifting so Keith can be in a more comfortable position while he’s awake.

Keith yawns quietly when he’s fully awake, eyes fluttering open as he pulls his head away from Coran’s arm, taking in his surroundings with bright eyes and a curious look.

He’s never looked more like a young boy, than he does in this moment.

His expression sinks to disappointment and a small frown, and he looks back at Coran, a hint of fear in those young eyes for a split second before recognition crosses them. He relaxes back into Coran’s arms, something Coran hasn’t seen him do in a while.

Keith hums sleepily, letting his eyes flutter shut once again. “...C’ran?”

“Yes, m’boy?” He brushes Keith’s bangs back, avoiding the nasty cut, trying to help Keith relax, if only slightly. He gets his reward when Keith settles more firmly against him, leaning into his hand.

“...you n’ver finished your s’ory,” he mumbles, slowly, sucking in a deep breath at the end. He winces a little, obviously disturbing his ribs, but other than that, he seems okay.

“I didn’t?” Hadn’t he? Keith had asked what Tidying the Closet meant, then had called it something else entirely, and- Oh! He didn’t! It must be a case of the Muggo brain! “Would you like me to finish it, m’boy?”

A small, reluctant nod.

“Well, alright, then!” He grins a strained smile, sitting up a little straighter. Keith remains limp, allowing Coran to move him around as he pleases. “They played Tidying the Closet, not hide and seek, whatever in Altea that means,” he begins, carding his fingers through Keith’s hair. “She was going to remain hidden first, and Alfor was going to find- Oh! Hide and seek, I get it now!” What a clever name! One hides while the other seeks; much more fitting than Tidying the Closet!

“...’ran?”

“Right, right,apologies, m’boy!” He clears his throat and begins again, slowing his fingers. Keith sighs in, dare he say, _content_ , for the first time in _weeks_ , as he tells the story. He watches Keith closely as he explains what had happened (how Allura had hidden under the Castle, and Alfor had been scared to the moon and back because he thought he had lost her, and how her mother was _furious_ ), watching the almost-there small smile twitch at his lips and his facial features relax.

He’s halfway through the story when the door to their cell bangs open, and he feels Keith tense against him, flinching.

He doesn’t look up as he hears the sentries walk in, continues to tell the story to Keith, even though his breathing has become much more shallow and _much_ faster, and Keith’s eyes have squeezed shut.

He only looks up when the sentries’ feet appear beside his crossed legs, and he offers nothing but a glare, tightening his hold on Keith.

“Relax, Advisor,” the commander says, from his spot in the middle of the cell. Coran tightens his jaw and says nothing, keeping Keith pressed close to his body. If Keith is hurt by this action, he doesn’t say anything. “We aren’t going to beat him today.”

It’s an act that’s supposed to get Coran to lower his guard; to make him believe that once they do whatever they’re here for, Keith will be left unscathed for the day, only if his guard is lowered, and he is left unsuspecting.

He doesn’t loosen his grip.

The commander’s smile stays in place, though his eyebrow twitches.

Coran considers this a win, if only a small one.

“But,” the commander begins, and a sense of dread pools in Coran’s stomach, “he will be if you don’t do as we say.”

Coran presses his teeth together hard enough that he’s surprised that they don’t crack, and shifts a little. Keith lets out a low whine, pressing himself closer to Coran.

“And what is it you say?” he asks, for clarification, as the sentries walk to either side of him. He bristles, feeling Keith tense as well, and tries to pull all of him into his lap.

The commander chuckles lightly. “Grab him.”

Each of the sentries grab one of Keith’s limbs, and begin to pull him away. Keith lets out a small shriek, though he clamps his mouth shut after the first second. Coran willingly lets go as the commander smirks, barking out a small laugh, not wanting to get Keith hurt further.

The third sentry that had been positioned at the door walks further in, a pair of cuffs in one hand and grabbing Coran by the bicep with the other. It drags him up without much resistance as the other two drag Keith to his usual chains.

The sentry holding Coran brings him to the centre of the room, cuffing his hands together without much of a struggle. Coran watches as the commander leaves the room with the sentries, ordering them to go grab… Thace?

Thace is _alive_?

Once the door closes, Coran takes the chance to cast a glance over at Keith.

Keith is attempting to get his feet beneath him, probably to get the strain off of his shoulders, but the chain leaves his feet dangling and his toes can just barely scrape the floor.

With a pained sigh, Keith’s attempts stop, and he sags against the chains. He winces nearly a minute later, and, from Coran’s view, tries to take the strain off his shoulders. “Coran?”

“Yes, my boy?” He offers a tired grin, at best, tugging on his cuffs. He isn’t shocked.

“Don’t-“ he grimaces, breathing a little deeper as he moves around. Coran winces in sympathy. He’s had his fair share of chains, in his line of work, and they are not amusing. “Don’t tell them anything.”

He wants to tell them _everything,_ just so they’ll stop hurting his son, but he knows that whatever the commander promises will be meaningless and empty; a lie. He nods, solemnly, and Keith seems to relax a little. His grin downturns as the door begins to open, and he turns his head towards it.

The commander is back, but this time,there’s a Galra soldier- no, maybe not a soldier- being dragged between the sentries, head hung low, and the commander is bearing a bigger smug grin than he had been before.

The sentries unceremoniously drop the Galra onto the ground, to which the Galra lets out a pained grunt, but keep their grip on his forearms, which forces the Galra into a kneeling position.

“Thace?” Keith’s voice is weak and tired, teetering on the verge of cracking

And, looking up, Coran notices that, yes, it is Thace, the Blade agent who blew up the ship _Keith_ was supposed to. The one who saved Keith’s- all of their- lives.

Thace has claw marks raking down his shoulder, and burn marks around his wrists, and he seems _painfully_ tired, but other than that, he looks relatively fine, nothing like what Keith looks like.

Coran- Coran _envies_ him, for _Keith_.

If he had not sent Keith down, and realized that the whole diplomatic mission was a trap, neither of them would be in this situation.

Thace meets his eye.

He nods.

Why is he nodding?

“Advisor!” The commander’s grin promises nothing but bad things- it never promises anything else- as he moves towards Keith. He grabs Keith by the hair and _pulls_ and Keith positively _howls_ in pain, eyes screwed shut, lips pulled together tightly. “I’m giving you a choice, today,” he says, letting go of Keith’s hair. Keith sags in his bonds, but winces, trying _not_ to sag, and Coran has to force himself not to break these cuffs off and punch the Galra’s bloody face in. “I’m going to cut off one of their hands, and, well,” he pulls out a knife, inspecting it in the dim lighting. Coran swallows thickly, meeting Keith’s eyes. He’s paler than he was before, and he’s trembling, but his eyes- his eyes are fierce. Keith wants him to pick him. “You can choose!”

Coran looks between them.

Thace is apart of the Blade, and if he loses his hand, there will be no way he can continue participating. The Blades won’t be able to make him a prosthetic, but maybe team Voltron can make him one, if the Blade will let them.

There’s also the fact that Thace has been trained for this kind of thing, has been through similar experiences; already a battle hardened soldier, while Keith…

He’s just a _boy_.

He’s just a young boy who was _thrown_  into this situation; into this war, with no prior training or experiences to ready him for this entire thing. He might be ambidextrous, but that doesn’t mean he’s _ready to lose a hand._

“Tick tock,” the commander growls, a scowl twitching over his smug smirk.

Every fiber of his being _wants_ to choose Thace, wants to let Thace deal with the burden; he is a Blade, after all, someone he hardly knows, but he can’t prioritize one over the other, and Keith would _never_ forgive him, even if he was grateful for not having lost his hand.

He bites his bottom lip, looking between the two.

He can’t pick.

“Won’t it just be easier to pick the one you _don’t_  know?” The commander begins, placing a hand onto the dip of Keith’s back. Keith’s body stills it’s shivering, tensing. “Or, pray tell, do you know him?”

Thace’s entire body jerks with a growl as the hand slides down the hem of Keith’s pants.

“I do not,” Coran lies, teeth grit as he watches the scene unfold before him. It seems to be the first time it has happened, at least, because Keith looks terrified and confused, unsure of what the commander is doing.

“Then wouldn’t it be no problem to get rid of that Galra’s hand, rather than his?”

Coran looks between them.

They’re both willing to take it, despite how scared Keith and Thace look.

“Tick, tock-“

“Take mine,” Coran says, making Thace’s and Keith’s eyes widen. The commander’s smile disappears and he frowns, pulling his hand out of Keith’s pants- and, oh, thank the gods. Coran might have snapped a few necks, if that were to happen. Keith relaxes a little, letting out a deep, inaudible sigh that Coran can see.

“That’s not what I asked, though I knew you would say that,” He smiles, and moves towards him. Keith’s eyes widen and he jerks against the restraints, but even Coran can see how much that hurt him as he slumps back down, eyes opened to cracks. The commander approaches him, then, fangs glinting in the non-existent light. He grabs Coran’s chin, claws digging into his cheeks, and there’s a startled shout of ‘ _no!’_ , but Coran ignores it. He _wanted_  this. He _wanted_ to keep Keith safe. “And, since you did,” he lets go of Coran’s chin, pulling out a knife. Coran barely manages to keep the wad of saliva in his mouth and not on the commander’s incredibly stupid face. “ _I_ get to decide.”

“What?” Coran’s startled to hear his own voice; he’s giving them a chance to take away the Advisor’s hand! _He_ helps run the ship! If- When they get out of here- Unless… unless the commander knows no one is coming. “No! You said-”

“I did,” he grins, _slowly_ , walking towards Keith. Coran’s eyes widen and he _swears_ he feels his heart stop as the knife scrapes against his armour, audible in the small cell. “But it seems as if you _want_  your Paladin’s hand taken off.”

He loses any sense of composure he had before as the commander digs the tip of the knife into the knuckle of Keith’s thumb.

“Do not _touch_ him, or I swear-“

“Coran-“

“Or you swear, _what_ , Advisor?”

“I-“

“Coran!”

Coran looks up, then, at Keith, who had managed a hoarse yell. The commander looks shocked, and as he regains his composure, amused.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Keith says, voice scratchy and rough and _broken_ , hanging limply from his chains. He’s in obvious pain, no doubt, but he stands- hangs- strong, eyes bright. “I-“

He cuts off with a ragged scream, jerking in his chains. Coran hadn’t even seen he commander move, nor had he seen him shove the crooked knife into Keith’s wrist.

Coran is screaming, he’s certain of it, even if all he can hear is ringing and all he can feel is rage and the desperate urge to save him-

Then there’s nothing.

Nothing but a _roar._


End file.
